


Good Times Bad Times

by MoralitySucks



Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:29:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoralitySucks/pseuds/MoralitySucks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They all rocked right on the edge, discordant but beautifully in sync, a perfect storm of noise and music."</p><p>It's 1968 and Zeppelin is on their first US tour, getting their first taste of fame, decadence and Americans.  Jimmy realizes an appreciation for the young Robert that goes beyond music, and the two tentatively get to know each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Times Bad Times

Zeppelin I was barely a third of the way through projected recording (not taking into account the lengthy, time consuming editing and production that, at the time, seemed completely unnecessary to the inexperienced half of the group) and they’d only played a couple dozen shows together, some of which still billed the upstart group as ‘Jimmy Page and the ~New~ Yardbirds’ and some that paid less than transportation and equipment costs. But their disheartening reception at home lay nearly forgotten across the ocean after just one over sold performance in the US. 

Jimmy had predicted just that, of course. As he accurately predicted most things. He told them all not to worry because the Yanks would appreciate them; the scene in LA that intertwined the entirety of the music business, Frank Zappa and his cult like following at the center, would welcome their new sound with open arms (and open legs) just as it had done for his old band. 

And, as usual, Page had been right. The small club on the outskirts of LA had barely been half full when they started their first States side performance, and by the second set, maximum occupancy had been reached and the fire marshal had shown up, both to clear the exits and hassle the crowd for numerous flagrant displays of drug use. They were all quick to accept the manager’s anxious request that they play a second night; the demand of the crowd that didn’t make it in to the first one promised a busy bar and solid cover charge. 

After a blistering Communication Breakdown show opener, the mass of milling teenagers crowding the dance floor seemed fiendishly enthralled by the powerhouse rock. Head banging had yet to be invented, but the Americans made a forward step towards its discovery that night as they pushed against the stage and moved and danced and screamed to the rhythm. 

Jonesy and Page had already had varying brushes with fame in their more professional careers, but Robert and Bonzo had never seen anything like it in the UK. It was wild.  
The frantic enthusiasm fueled the band on, and they all played hard and fast. They had already responded happily to three loudly begged for encores and now stood just backstage, listening to hundreds of people cheer for them.

“We’ve got to do just one more!” Robert’s clear blue eyes were wide and his face flushed from his increasingly exuberant stage antics. The dark blue suede shirt he wore was held on by only two buttons in the middle now, his washboard abs and sun kissed chest gleaming with sweat under the dim backstage lights. “Listen to ‘em!”

Jimmy looked at the young singer in amusement, untwisting the thick guitar strap that held his telecaster to his slight frame as he tilted his head and absorbed the cheering. It had changed, and now they could clearly hear one word being chanted in eerie unison.  
 _*Zeppe-lin*_  
 _*Zeppe-lin*_

It was an amazingly well organized call and response chant, one half of the club yelling the first syllable before the other half answered with the last. They could feel the stamp of feet reverberating through the floor, even back here. 

“Robert, we don’t _know_ anymore songs!” Jimmy finally replied, a soft smile on his face. He wasn’t impervious to the undeniable cosmic energy swirling about from that many people simultaneously losing their minds over something he had created, but there literally wasn’t anything left on their set list. 

“What about that Muddy Waters number?” Jones, who had made it half way back to the dressing room before realizing he’d lost everyone else, chimed in just as he rejoined them. When Jim stared blankly at him, he swung his guitar around and easily plucked out the heavy bass line, shaking his chin length mop of blonde hair out of his face as he did so. “Surely we all know that?”

“I’m sure we do all know it, but _we_ don’t know it. We’ve never played it together… I doubt Robert even knows all the words-”

Waving an impatient hand, Robert cut him off. “I’ve flown by the seat of my trousers on harder songs than ‘You Shook Me’.” He scoffed. “I could manage it silly drunk and off my tits.”

Having just finished chugging the several pints of deceptively dark but disappointingly flavorless American ale the roadies had brought, Bonzo belched, wiped froth from his mustache and added his agreement. “Yeah, and me!”

Out past the stage, the chanting was beginning to fade. 

Jimmy hated being unprepared for anything. It made him feel like he’d lost some modicum of control, and there was not a lot more important to Jimmy Page than control. But he also hated to walk away from that crowd. If they went out and rocked an unrehearsed song to a crowd begging for them, it would be the cherry on top of an already great concert. But if they went out there and bombed, it’d be the last impression left and could potentially ruin the memory of the entire show. He bit his lip, frowning indecisively. He hated gambling. 

“Pagey, listen.” Robert was talking fast, feeling their window inexorably closing. His eyes, usually alight with his good nature and endless supply of amusement, were now intense and serious, adopting the dark blue of his shirt. “Sometimes there’s a chance to do something great, and even if that chance is smaller than the likelihood of droppin’ a bollocks, you just gotta go for it.”

“Beautifully said.” Jonesy encouraged, grinning at the singer.

Surprisingly moved by this little speech, Jimmy nodded gravely. “Hey, but listen. Jonesy, John- Slow it down, 1, 2, 3, 4,” He counted out the slower, sustained meter for the rhythm section. “And Robert… Push it.”

“Aye, sir!” Robert said with a grin and an ironically jaunty salute. He turned, practically skipping back on stage.

 _‘Practically, nothing,’_ Jimmy thought with a smile as he followed the blonde out. _‘That’s literally just skipping.’_

Before they even took their places, the club had exploded. Bowing graciously, the band members navigated the small stage to raucous applause. 

Robert posed in front of the mic stand, sweeping back his beautiful mane of blonde curls with a ringed hand. “You’re all so impossible to say goodbye to!” He told the still shrieking crowd. “Thank you so much! We’re gonna show you a thing we’re borrowing from Mr. Waters, now. We’ve never rehearsed it, but you all have been so lovely, we didn’t want you to have to go to bed dissatisfied.” When Robert winked on stage, it was as if his entire body winked, every inch of him conveying innuendo. He waited uselessly for a lull in the appreciative roar, trying to calm them all down. “We- now, hey, come on! Shh… Quiet down-”

“Oi! Shut your gobs!” Bonzo bellowed, earning silence almost immediately.

“Thank you, John!”

He grinned, beating out a quick roll on the hi-hat in response. 

“Alright, now that I have your attention…” Placing his hands on his hips, Robert shook his hair back and raised his shoulders as he smiled at the waiting crowd. “This is You Shook Me.” He finished, nodding back at Jimmy just as the buzz of feedback announced his psychedelic telecaster being plugged back into the amp. 

Jimmy played in with a steady, ascending staccato of notes; bringing it right to the top where it hovered, held, along with everyone’s breath. And then they all dropped it at once. 

The harmonica Robert had produced from a shirt pocket weaved seamlessly across the bass and guitar, the relentless, awesome drumming pounding it all together like a hammer beating in the nails

It was their particular brand of magic. The alchemy of four individual elements fitting so perfectly together that it produced a fifth, completely new presence.

While catching his breath in between harmonica and verses, Robert surveyed the rest of the group and quickly found himself so absorbed in the immaculate guitar line that he could scarcely hear anything else. Watching Jimmy, he didn’t even think about his next move before he did it, just opened his mouth and let loose. 

Instead of singing the repetitive words, Robert just moaned into the mic, vocalizing rather than singing. His pitch matched that of Jimmy’s guitar precisely, and the two sounds hit together hard, becoming nearly indistinguishable from each other, riding through the riff with powerful vibrato. 

Jimmy was so surprised, he nearly dropped a chord. He looked to Robert for some sort of confirmation of this new, terribly obvious but previously overlooked harmony, but the younger man’s eyes were shut tight as he leaned against the mic stand and belted out that amazing howl. Somehow, Robert knew exactly where to go, even as Jimmy slid from one chord to the next. It was surreal and magical, and, Jimmy realized with some chagrin, making him harder than a dime groupie with nothing on her mind but satisfaction. 

“Youuuuu shooook meeeeeee…” Robert moaned, cupping his hands around the microphone as he weaved and swayed to the consistent bass. The jeans he wore might as well have been painted on for how tight they were, and the way they hugged his ass was impossible not to notice from behind. 

Which is where Jimmy happened to be. He swallowed, grateful to his own muscle memory for being able to move his fingers correctly when he was this distracted, as well as to his low slung fender; he could feel his hardening erection pressing firmly against the guitar, but as long as it blocked it from view, he was fine. 

_‘It’s not that odd.’_ He assured himself. Robert was always talking about music in terms of how randy it made him, showing enthusiasm for a good jam session by announcing how hard it made him. _‘It’s definitely just an effect of the music and probably has nothing to do with how well fit Robert’s abs look under that shirt.’_

“Aaaaaaaaall niiiiiiiiight…” Silence. Tension, from the audience as much as the band. Robert could edge a crowd near climax with his voice as easily as he could a woman with his mouth. “Loooong!” And then he whipped around, his hair twirling impressively, seeming to hover around his head. Mid-spin, his shirt gave up on the last button and flew open, baring his tanned, heaving chest. He stared right into Jimmy’s wide eyes. “Give it to me, Jimmy!”

Aleister help him, he nearly came right there. But he did give it to him. Letting his shoulder length black curls fall in front of his face to separate him from the intensity of the audience as well as the Golden God that seemed to have possessed his singer, Jimmy widened his stance, leaned back and released an impossible flurry of notes. His pale, slender fingers assaulted the fret board, barely touching the strings as he teased out wails, moans and shrieks from the instrument like a devoted lover pushes an orgasm on indefinitely. 

And he only thought about fucking Robert through most of it. 

The crowd had lost its mind, cheering wildly through the blistering guitar solo, raising in intensity when Bonzo joined in with a raining battery of shaking blows and Jonesy slid in with a funky, bending bass line. They all rocked right on the edge, discordant but beautifully in sync, a perfect storm of noise and music. 

For the finish, Bonzo and Jimmy both jumped impulsively to deliver their final, ringing notes with flair as they landed. The stage shook as much as the air.

“Thank you! Thank you all so much! That’s Jimmy Page on guitar, John Paul Jones on bass, John Bonham on- you know what? We’re Led Zeppelin, tell your friends but not your parents!” Robert was grinning and bowing graciously. “Thank you, much obliged. But we’ve really got to go, before all the tea cools off, you understand. Good night!” 

They all moved quickly back stage, collectively shell shocked and ready to be done with the show. 

“Good lord, Jim!” Robert exclaimed, catching up to the guitarist and slowing him down with a hand on his hip as they all walked swiftly back to the dressing room. “That got intense! I feel as if we just rutted on stage.”

Nodding, Jimmy avoided eye contact as well as vocalizing any agreement to this colorful statement. “Where did that come from?”

The youngest band member was still so elated that he couldn’t stop skipping and twirling and waving his arms while they walked. He beamed at Jimmy, an expression sitting right on the fence between pride and bashfulness that was quite becoming on his quirked lips. “I’m not really sure. I just _felt_ your playing. In here.” He thunked a hand against his chest. Then, he threw an arm over Jimmy’s shoulders and playfully touched _his_ chest. “So I guess it came from somewhere in here.”

Jimmy couldn’t help the reaction. He stiffened as soon as Robert touched him, freezing in place, stopping mid step in the dingy hallway. He regretted the shocked reaction as soon as he saw uncertainty replace the glee on Robert’s face. The blonde quickly removed his arm and stepped away.

Now slightly awkward, Robert stuck his hands in his pockets and turned to proceed down the hall. “Sorry. I’m not tryin’ to be funny or anything. Sometimes I just think of things a bit off, ya know?”

Jimmy only nodded and followed him. 

“You know when we really get jammin’, like we were tonight, and we all reach some sort of…” Robert’s hands moved as he searched for the right word. “Coalition? Fusion? And you can just…”

“Feel it? Yeah.” Jimmy was quick to show his agreement on this one, anxious to recover from the awkwardness. 

“Yes.” He smiled happily back at the guitarist. “Well. What I meant before, the same part of me that says ‘listen, old Robert, you are really soarin’!’ told me to just go for it.” 

“Well, we’re putting it on the album.”

This was agreed on unanimously. Even Grant said as much; their huge, Cockney manager was waiting for their return outside the dressing room, greeting them like soldiers returning from a victory that had secured the war, smiles, hugs and praise at the ready. 

The atmosphere was quickly morphing into party mode, everyone knowing the slight triumph of the night marked a real turn of the tides for them and wanting to celebrate accordingly. Even Jonesy, who usually liked to vanish after gigs, off to his own room to call his wife or polish his beloved bass, was effected by the show, already several shots of scotch deep by the time they were all packed up and headed back to the hotel. 

They moved through the lobby like a whirlwind of laughter, squealing chicks (several of the prettiest groupies had somehow joined the ranks simply between car and buildings) and sweet smelling smoke from the superb California grass that Cole had obtained. It was weird, going from a filled venue with people shrieking and literally sobbing over them, to the sleepy lobby with middle aged employees staring disdainfully at the procession, not a single face of recognition in the building. 

Once the members all took stools next to each other on the long side of the respectable gold trimmed oak bar, their entourage and various hangers on poured over the empty seats like an amoeba of gaiety and merriment. 

Robert had turned from the gorgeous bobbed red head leaning between he and Bonham to catch Jimmy’s attention on his left. “You were so hot tonight, Pagey!”

“Thanks, you as well, Robert.” Jimmy replied, swallowing and making a production of flagging down the flustered but diligently persevering bartender. He ordered a pint with a shot before thinking better of it and telling him to just bring the entire bottle of Jack. Finished ordering, he tossed his hair over his shoulder and smiled agreeably at Robert. “The acoustics in there were exceptional.”

“Oh yeah, I bet the arched ceilings were completely responsible for that solo that woulda shredded the tits off a wet nurse halfway through Good Times Bad Times!” As was common for the large, normally reserved drummer once he began drinking, Bonzo’s booming voice was the loudest in the area and came from above the rim of a loaded pint of ale. 

“You’re one to talk, John,” Jimmy said, accepting the full bottle of whiskey handed across the bar and using it to hide his smile. “Once you got going on Pat’s Delight, I damn near thought the Blitz had started up.” 

“Pip, pip, good show, old boys!” Jonesy threw in, leaning across the bar and holding up his mug, initiating a wavering toast. “We were all equally brilliant, now let’s all get equally swatted.”

Robert knocked Bonzo’s arm, spilling cider and whiskey all across the shamelessly bared cleavage of the ginger bird between them. When she gasped and turned to mop it up, both men looked embarrassed before they made eye contact and simultaneously burst into uproarious laughter. Clinking glasses together, they sloshed more over the bar.  
“Me and Robert here’ll help you clean those up, love!” Bonzo bellowed, pulling her, giggling, onto his stool. “One on each, right? Like the machines at the bowling alley!” 

Laughing at the obscene display, Robert turned back to Jimmy. “These American chicks’ll bite any line, eh, Jimmy?”

After toasting happily with his band mates, Jimmy had turned his outward attention to the slowly draining bottle of Jack in his hand while his thoughts introverted between replaying the show in his mind and much more unseemly behavior. He was still, if not more so now with the buzz of alcohol and energy, ragingly horny. He could get Cole to deliver the hottest, the youngest, to his room in no time. Pulled from these thoughts, he blinked at Robert. “Huh?”

He laughed. “What thoughts have you so far out?” 

Robert’s curls were disorderly and wild, untamed like the vibrant gleam in his blue eyes. Jimmy found it hard to focus on the question. “I was thinking… about playing ‘You Shook Me’.” That wasn’t a lie.

The blonde’s cheeks flushed, as if he couldn’t fathom a better compliment (which, at the moment, he couldn’t). Nodding, he opened his mouth to reply.

“Sorry, pal, what’s your birthday?”

“My what?” Robert gaped at the bartender leaning across to him.

“Your birthday.”

“August 20th.”

“Year?”

Robert shrugged, wrapping his lips around the brim of his mug and downing a swig. “Every year.” 

The bartender wasn’t amused by the antics, and he was even less amused when Grant pushed his way to the group and produced passports. 

Even Bonzo, Robert’s best friend and peer, was several months in the clear for the strict US drinking age. But Robert was not. 

He laughed easily, announcing with a flip of his golden hair that he had much more important business to attend to in his room anyway, and that they shouldn’t stay out terrorizing the locals too late before taking one last defiant pull from his beer and swaggering out the door. 

Jimmy hadn’t missed the underlying embarrassment or the speed with which Robert vacated in his attempt to hide it. As he stared after him, Jimmy thought maybe he wouldn’t bother Cole for a hookup tonight. 

They didn’t have a bouncer, but the hefty concierge they’d dressed down and placed at the bar entrance to serve as such tried to stop Jimmy from leaving with the two liter bottle of Jack. His protest caught in his throat with his thick American accent as Jimmy stared stonily at him, expression grave and unchanging. “Fine, go on.” And then as the door swung shut behind him “Hippie bastards.”

He found Robert on the edge of the parking lot, standing next to a bulky phone box and staring into the Western horizon, where the faintest, possibly imagined glow of the long set sun stretched into obscurity. All the buttons on his shirt were done up, and he had his hands stuffed into his pockets, shoulders hunched against the chill. 

The bleak air of melancholy surrounding the usually exuberant younger man arrested Jimmy, and for a moment, he was unable to say anything. He finally cleared his throat to announce his presence. “Alright, Robert?”

“Hmm?” He turned, the wind he’d been staring down now plastering some of his hair across his face. “Oh, Page. Alright?”

Jimmy nodded by way of answering.

“I thought to make a call.” He turned back to the west, letting the wind sort out his wild tresses. “But I’ve only got 10 P, and I couldn’t find a transfer slot.” He looked sideways at Jimmy, smiling lightheartedly. “The automated tellers aren’t as quick to accept phone sex as payment.”

At first, Jimmy thought for sure that he must be joking. But the more he thought about it, the easier it was to imagine ruggy headed Robert sweet talking his way past a big legged switch board operator who tutted at the innuendo, but put him through with a giddy blush anyway. He did have the voice for it.

“So now here I am, hoping maybe my message will get carried across the water by the father of the four winds.”

Sitting in Jimmy’s vest pocket were three or four American quarters, change from the new Rolling Stones he’d picked up earlier, surely enough for a long distance call. He thought to give them to Robert and leave him to his call. He took a drink of Jack instead. “That’s quite good. You should write it down.”  
He shrugged, the wind rippling the fabric of his shirt across his shoulders to emphasize the gesture. “Either I remember something later when I try to sing, or it wasn’t worth remembering.” 

“Who do you wanna call?”

“Maureen, my old lady, I guess. She’s not expecting to hear from me or anything, I just…” Another shrug, followed by a defeated little smile. “Gotta do something to pass the time ‘till I’m mature enough for Uncle Sam’s frothy horse piss.”

“You’re not missing much. By the time it makes it through the horses at the White House stables, steaming hot to the taps, the alcohol content’s all but vanished.” Consolation was not Jimmy’s strong suit, but he tried to make the few words he could think to say sound warm. He sidled up to the phone box, leaning back on the glass side and extending the bottle of whiskey. “Here.” When Robert blinked in surprise at the proffered drink, Jimmy was painfully aware of how distant and… not unfriendly exactly, but careful and removed he was from the rest of the band. He felt suddenly determined to remedy that. 

After a grateful swig, Robert turned to face the other man; a flush of color across his cheeks and considerable less maudlin shaping his features. “Does the White House even have a stable?”

Jimmy ducked his head when he grinned, long tendrils of black, velvety smooth curls blowing across his pale face with the tangy salt water breeze. “I dunno, but I think Nixon would need something to ride into battle.”

“From the propaganda posters, you’d expect he and Agnew have a whole flock of Tolkien’s Great Eagles saddled up around the back for that.”

The sudden guffaw overtook Jimmy before he could stop it, and they laughed together in the cold night outside the hotel where Led Zeppelin celebrated. As silence fell between them, everything else became louder.

From inside the bar, they could hear yelling and laughter; someone had stuck a Chuck Berry song on the juke box and the already swirling atmosphere was fueled by the rockabilly guitar. Not far off, down the hill from the hotel district, the city buzzed with the muted activity of urban night, horns honking and music playing. Jimmy shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. His shirt was a fine, thin silk that served no barrier against the chill, despite the considerable sleeve ruffles and elaborate cravat. 

After some time, Robert’s voice broke the not-silence. “Hey… Jimmy?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s gonna get… there’s gonna be more off this, isn’t there? This barreling from performances to studios to… partying?”

“I think so, yes.”

He sighed then. Not in a put out way, just resigned and offhand. Leaning his side against the phone box, Robert smiled down at the smaller man, purposefully blocking most of the wind from him. “Well, if you’re not on a tight schedule between ruby lipped teenage queens, I’ve got nearly an ounce of Acapulco gold in my room. I could pay you back for the drink.” Robert usually had no trouble reading people; whether it was a mystic ability to read vibes, or a subconscious recognition of body language, he could tell exactly how his flirtations were received. But the slight, carefully and coolly maintained exterior that Page held at all times remained enigmatic. When Jimmy’s face stayed expressionless, he quickly added. “Not to keep you from the party. God knows what’ll happen if we leave the Johns alone for too long.”

But then, Jimmy smiled easily up at him, and he felt foolish for being so worried. “Grant and Cole will keep them in line.” 

“Yeah, it’s Cole I’m worried about. John tends to drink too much when I’m not around to distract him, and bless old Dick’s heart, but he’s the very model of a modern major enabler.” 

“I’m sure they’ll manage. I was only thinking, maybe we should go to my room. I got the new Cream LP this morning, and my portable player’s already set up. If you wanted to…” _‘And it’s three floors away from everyone else, not likely we’ll get interrupted by anyone’_ he didn’t add.

Robert nodded enthusiastically. “Disraeli was so brilliant!” 

They passed the nearly empty bottle back and forth a few more times as they slowly crossed the parking lot. “Yeah. You know the bit with the wah-wah in Ulysses?”

“That’s the best part of that song.”

“I taught Clapton how to do that.” 

“Why does that not surprise me?” Robert laughed, playfully bumping into him. “You’re not cold, are you, Pagey?” 

“No.” Jimmy shivered, as if his body had been reminded of the low temperature by the question.

“Uh huh.” Now feeling his confidence renewed, Robert slung an arm around the guitarist’s shoulders, and Jimmy had enough booze in him by now to not pull away. “Who’s a better guitarist, Beck or Clapton?”

“I’m not answering that…”

“I see. And who’s a bigger tit?”

“Oh, they make a fine pair.”

They laughed and, leaning heavily on each other, entered the hotel.


End file.
